The Fine Art of Being Lost
by The World's Fate Is Sticky
Summary: A boy from a small Middle Earth village finds himself in the middle of...well, somewhere, with a young sarcastic Hobbit and an Elf who cannot understand a word they say. Rated T just in case. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's work, which is any familiar characters, places, names etc. which may appear in this story. Thankyou.

THE FINE ART OF BEING LOST

BY THE WORLD'S FATE IS STICKY

A/N:Rated T, _just in case_.This chapter has little to do with the eventual story. It is just explaining how this whole thing began. The real story will start soon, I promise!

Chapter 1: Prologue

Orcs are often thought of as mindless killing machines. But although this may seem the case, one must remember that even Orcs have their own free-willed ideas, no matter how small and unapparent it may be.

Of course, Saruman had done his best to quash this trait from his Orc army. But there will always be those who are either too smart or too ignorant to be affected.

Realising this, a small group of, say, 30 Orcs secretly got together one unsurprisingly dark night, in one of Isengard's many unsurprisingly dark nooks.

Squashed in the small space, and feeling rebellious, the Orcs spent a few minutes doing bad Sauron imitations, before getting down to business.

Basically, they decided that as far as they were concerned, Saruman, with his crazy schemes and enviable beard, could go and get stuffed.

In an amazing feat of co-operation (one which would never be demonstrated by Orcs again), the Orcs _formed a Union. _Then they somehow escaped from Isengard, which was made hard by the fact that one of them was giggling like a sugar-high toddler.

* * *

"Where are we going?" asked an Orc as they traipsed along in a random direction. 

Overcome by...well, one emotion or another...the group suddenly turned on the one that had spoken. They destroyed him. _Destroyed._

"We sure took care of him!" another Orc laughed. They destroyed him, too.

After ten of their number had been decimated, the Orcs realised two things. One, unreasonably killing each other was not the way to a 'new life' (it was also a breach of the Union rules, but most of the Orcs had forgotten about that by now). Two, they had no idea where the heck they were.

Disregarding this completely, they continued walking, stopping only to eat and rest. This was a good choice, however, for in a few days they came to a road. They followed this road, for lack of anything better/smarter to do.

They followed, and followed and followed, for what seemed like forever. Once they crossed over a river, which was the most exciting thing that the road had led them to so far. Just when the Orcs were starting to wonder who had come up with this stupid idea, they came across the village of Bree.

* * *

Well, that's the first chapter of my first story. Hope you liked it! As I said, I'll get to the main story soon. Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's work, which is any familiar characters, places, names etc. which may appear in this story. Thankyou.

THE FINE ART OF BEING LOST

BY THE WORLD'S FATE IS STICKY

A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in so long, but I've been busy. And when I realised that someone was actually reading my story, I thought I'd better get to it.

Chapter 2: The Attack Begins

The attack, in actuality, did not last very long at all. This may have been due to the fact that the Orcs were so excited to be doing something, they did not think it through at all. The plan was, in a word, cliché. It involved the Orcs making a battering ram from a large fallen oak, and preceding to ram the crap out of Bree's main gate-door thing.

If you've ever woken up to the sound of some tactless midnight visitor, locked-out family member, or the local police banging on the door, then you will know that the noise is very hard to ignore. So it was, that when the gate-door thing finally fell, the cheers of the Orcs stopped abruptly when they realised that the entire population of Bree was standing there.

In yet another stroke of brilliance, the Orcs turned tail and ran for the hills, but not before their number was halved by the unappreciative Bree-ians.

The remaining Orcs ran for hours, only stopping when they realised that the angry mob had stopped chasing them forty minutes ago. They collapsed onto the ground, and groaned in disbelief: they had run away from one village, straight into the vicinity of another.

But soon enough, the mindless bloodlust common in the _E. Orcus_ species returned. This village, they reasoned, was not really a village at all. At the most there must have been eleven tiny wooden hut-like structures, one of them slightly less tiny than the others. They were all surrounding a large circular area of dirt, in the middle of which there was a giant bonfire crackling. Obviously, whoever had designed this place did not know much about fire safety.

So, the Orcs did what anyone would expect, and rampaged through the miniscule collection of dwellings. And, I am afraid, this time it was successful. I will not go into details, since I am probably bad at writing that sort of stuff, but I will tell you that the Orcs destroyed every house (with the help of the bonfire), and, sadly, murdered every inhabitant. The people who lived in the village all seemed to be middle-aged to elderly, and were not trained in combat, nor did they have any weapons.

Finally, the Orcs turned to the last of the huts, the biggest one. Bursting inside, they stopped dead at the sight that met them.

The house was filled with riches. Velvet tapestries and intricately-painted scenes hung from the walls. Piles of shiny objects and leather-bound books occupied the corners of the room. Polished dark-wood furniture was crammed into the remaining space. In the middle of the room there was a large, fancy bed. A small, brown-haired boy of about thirteen was sitting under the covers, breathing fast and staring, terrified, at these unexpected visitors.

Meanwhile, these unexpected visitors were transfixed as magpies in a world of foil. Never before had they seen so much pretty stuff in one place.

The Orcs' reverie was broken by the small, stuttering voice of the boy.

"W-who are y-you?" the boy squeaked. "W-what do you want? P-please don't h-h-hurt me!"

For the third time in two chapters (don't worry, it'll stop soon), the brains of the Orcs were working quickly. They didn't know why this rich kid and his rich stuff were here, but they could guess: he was the son of some posh man in one of the big cities, and he was here, maybe in hiding or on vacation or something. It didn't matter. What did matter is that people who have expensive things always want more, and the Orcs were almost drooling at the thought of how much more they could get.

At last, it clicked: hold the boy for ransom. The boy's father would likely give them everything to get his son back.

Grinning, the Orcs advanced on the boy. Flat-out ignoring his requests of "don't hurt me", one of the Orcs thwacked the boy over the head, K-Oing him instantly. The Orc bound him with some fancy rope which was conveniently lying nearby, while the others collected all the riches into some fancy bags, which were also conveniently lying nearby.

Things were looking up.

Well, that was really Part 2 of the Prologue. Oh, well. It will probably be a while til I update again. Sorry!

Hmm, I seem to be apologising in every note. I should really be more positive. Until next time!


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